


Contact

by pyrrhic_victoly



Category: Kyou Kara Maou
Genre: Cheesy, Cultural Differences, Dorks in Love, Feels, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/pyrrhic_victoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of related scenes about Conrad and Yuuri, and (sometimes) the art of wordless communication.</p><p>It started with a theme, and slowly outgrew it.  Now it's just tooth-rotting fluff, the occasional bit of angst, Conrad and Yuuri being massive dorks, and special appearances by the elusive creature known as ass-kicking manly!Wolfram, the defender of propriety.</p><p>All chapters can stand alone.  They're not written chronologically, and can be read in any order.  (The later chapters are much better quality, IMO.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eye Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is looking straight into his eyes for once, and Conrad cannot stop himself.

He’s used to the way Yuuri tilts his head down minutely. Although he wishes he could gaze forever into those dark depths, drown in the abyss, Conrad understands that it’s a cultural practice.

“It’s a Japanese thing,” Yuuri had said, “I can’t explain it very well since it’s so ingrained into the culture that it’s automatic, but it’s disrespectful to stare directly into people’s eyes for too long. It’s like you’re challenging them.”

Right now, as they sit together on the bed of Conrad’s small room, Conrad briefly catches Yuuri’s eyes with his own, only to see him quickly turn away. Recently, he has been catching Yuuri’s gaze more often, only to have the boy glance elsewhere upon discovery. His heart leaps at the possibility, but he crushes these inappropriate dreams. Conrad is but a rough, battle-scarred soldier. He is a broken man. He has been destroyed and pieced back together so many times that he is sure there are visible cracks all over his soul, cracks as numerous as the scars that line his body.

He is no hero; he is not even a whole man, since he cannot see purpose in his life without his king. He is hardly a beautiful man, and although he knows that he is not ugly and Yuuri is not the superficial type to be swayed by physical beauty anyway, part of him still believes that Yuuri deserves a gorgeous young companion.

At the root of it all is the thought that Yuuri simply deserves _better_. He deserves so much _more_. He deserves to have everything his pure heart desires, including the normal family with a loving wife and children that Conrad can never give him no matter how much his shattered-again-repaired-again heart screams that no one could ever love Yuuri more than he. No one.

Self-directed anger, longing, regret, and inadequacy weighs heavily on his mind. Conrad remembers riding back to the castle with Yozak by his side. His aggravating friend had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking. Yozak, in his usual cryptic fashion, had suddenly broken the silence and said, “You know it’s not good for you. If you keep filling up that emotional bucket without dumping anything out, one day it’s going to overflow. You’ll burst, captain.”

Yuuri clears his throat and Conrad snaps back into the present. His king nervously stutters and starts, eyes darting to Conrad’s every once in a while. Conrad, meanwhile, desperately-secretly-covetously relishes the moments when their eyes meet in passing.

They talk about futures. Cheri has obviously mentioned something about playing matchmaker for her sons, because Yuuri is worried that the importance Conrad places on his duty to protect the Maou is preventing him from finding happiness, that Conrad is unable to set aside time to find a lover.

“You don’t have to deny yourself because of me,” he says, “You once offered to bear me up and set me free, if that was my wish. I’m extending the same offer to you.”

Once this is said, Yuuri turns and looks straight into his eyes for once, and Conrad cannot stop himself. Having this boy, no, this wonderful, thoughtful young man in his room, speaking to him about love, of all things, is all just too much. He is drawn into those beautiful black depths and inexorably spills his secret longings. “You’re wrong, Yuuri. I’ve already found the one I want to stand beside forever. Though the feelings may never be returned, I shall remain faithful to my one-sided love.”

Yuuri frowns, looking extremely upset, like he cannot believe that Conrad should harbor an unrequited love. The younger man’s mouth opens and closes indignantly, as if he were scolding the mystery person who dared to trample on Conrad’s heart so carelessly. Just having Yuuri upset on his behalf further ignites his passion and Conrad feels an odd twinge of bittersweet pleasure in his chest that Yuuri cares for him at least this much.

Then he ruins everything by continuing to speak. The words stream out of his mouth on autopilot. “Forgive me for my insolence. It’s not the Maou that’s important to me. It’s you. You are the one I love. My heart beats only for you, Yuuri.”

“C-Conrad! Don’t say such things!” Yuuri gasps and lowers his head. Those eyes are ripped away and Conrad immediately feels the loss.

Conrad puts a finger under his chin and tilts it back up, briefly making contact again before Yuuri’s glance instinctively darts to the side. “I’m serious,” he says, blazing with an intensity rarely seen outside of battle. Yuuri gulps, but it is too late for Conrad to stop. The bucket is overflowing; it has burst and he feels compelled to express his desires, even though he is all but sure he will be rejected.

“Know this, Yuuri. Whatever choices you make, I will continue to stay by your side. I am your sword and shield. I am yours, Yuuri, all of me, to do with as you wish. You have only to ask.”

Yuuri gapes, disbelieving, and Conrad fears the worst. His eyes, which were previously focused somewhere around Conrad’s cheek, flick upward. Lips pressed together in an angry line, Yuuri glares challengingly, meeting and holding Conrad’s gaze for an interminable moment. Strangely, it is Conrad who feels the need to look away, but he is rooted to the spot. When Yuuri opens his mouth to speak, Conrad braces himself for what he is sure will be cutting words, biting and tearing past his defenses to break him once more.

“We…are both TOTAL IDIOTS,” Yuuri proclaims.

Conrad gasps in confusion and surprise. “What?”

“I…um, feel _that way_ about you, too.”

“Yuuri…” Conrad stares in absolute wonder. His heart leaps again and he can’t bear to squash it down again. Even if it’s all a mistake, a misunderstanding, he will always have this moment to cherish.

“You’re not going to make me say it, are you? I’m really bad at this sort of thing.” Yuuri scoots closer until their knees barely brush. The world narrows down until it consists only of that tiny, innocent touch. Conrad decides to grab the hope dangling in front of him and cling to it with every fiber of his being. He tentatively reaches for Yuuri’s shoulder and places his hand there. When there is no resistance, he pulls the younger man to him until they are completely pressed together. They curve into each other, each filling the other’s hollows, and they sit there for the longest time, nestled like spoons.

Yuuri shifts his head and Conrad looks down. “You said you’d do anything for me.”

“Yes. Anything, Yuuri.”

“Then I have just one request. Don’t break my heart.”


	2. Skin and Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In these moments, words are unnecessary.

They lay side by side on the grass under the partial shade of a tree with Yuuri’s head pillowed on Conrad’s firm chest. There is the sound of leaves rustling above, the fresh scent of spring swirling around, and Conrad’s warm hand in his, fingers tangled intimately until it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

“Your hands are so warm,” he whispers into the cool breeze.

Conrad merely mumbles back contentedly and lets Yuuri continue his caresses. In these moments, words are unnecessary.

Softly stroking his beloved’s hand, Yuuri contemplates their relationship. He loves a lot of things about Conrad, but he especially loves the feel of their hands clasped together. It is better than when they walk down the halls and their shoulders “accidentally” brush. It is even better than when Conrad sneaks up on him and wraps his arms around him from behind, though those are pretty good times, too.

Examining Conrad’s hands had become a routine for him. He stares at them often, especially when he’s too embarrassed to look directly into his lover’s eyes. The Mazoku have no taboo against eye contact. It is encouraged, and Yuuri is trying, really, but it’s difficult for him to break almost two decades of cultural conditioning. So he looks at the soldier’s hands instead. They are large and calloused, rough from a lifetime of sword practice, crisscrossed with a network of delicate white scars.

He brings the scarred hand up to the sunlight and traces each jagged line. They are all familiar by now, like old friends. With a sigh, Yuuri brings the hand down on top of his heart, thumb trailing languidly over Conrad’s wrist, pressing against his pulse. Perhaps it is because he once wept over Conrad’s lifeless, severed arm, but the warmth, the _life_ in this touch right now fills his heart to bursting.

Conrad’s hands are steady and confident. Their movements are precise and every action as efficient as his swordsmanship; no wasted energy, no additional flourishes. Clean and to the point, yet unbearably elegant in its simplicity.

Conrad’s hands are gentle and loving; a perfect reflection of the man himself. Yuuri has never been too good with words. He tends to ramble and go off topic and shout and scream in surprise. He is the worst at expressing the softer emotions. On occasion, he might be able to muster up a fairly good speech about justice, but when it comes to love, he stumbles, he falters, he trips and falls silent.

This awkwardness, which he is now convinced he will never grow out of, is exactly why he is glad that Conrad always knows exactly what it means when he sends him messages through body language, letting Yuuri’s own hands speak for him instead of his inadequate tongue. Yuuri’s fingers dance lightly across the rough palm and they silently state, _I love you more than words can say._

Conrad smiles back and gives a little squeeze that says, _I understand. I am here for you, and I love you, too._


	3. The Catcher's Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baseball, Yuuri decides, is what helped prepare him to be king.

People who don’t know baseball don’t know that catching is the most mentally demanding position in the entire game. A good catcher doesn’t just catch - he must know the game the way a coach would. The catcher’s job is to read his team, to observe, to decide the outcome of the pitch. The catcher, crouching in position behind home base, is the only member who faces in the same direction as the opposing team’s batter. He sees his own team and gauges their readiness. He sees the batter from up close and measures his emotional state, reading through the other team’s strategy. His eyes meet the pitcher’s. He nods, giving the signal.

Yuuri has been obsessed with baseball ever since his father took him to the all-day training camp where he was able to catch a pro’s ball. It was a shining moment in his childhood, and a turning point in his life. He has been playing catcher ever since. He has been making split-second decisions, strategizing, and determining victories ever since.

While it may seem like just a dirty hobby, baseball, Yuuri decides, is what helped prepare him to be king. He is used to having the whole field in front of him, directing plays as the infield coach. Now, he is standing before a kingdom, which is just like a much bigger field. (Unlike the actual coach, however, the catcher is always in the middle of the action, to the chagrin of Yuuri’s retainers.)

People who don’t know baseball…don’t know that Yuuri sees a lot more than they think.

Maybe it’s because he never took much of an interest in things like dating and relationships while on Earth (dropping them in favor of baseball), but almost everyone seems to think that Yuuri is utterly clueless about love, just like he’s supposedly clueless about politics, race relations, and how to be a proper king. Most people never stop to wonder why the Maou, who knows nothing, can also be the _Maou_ , who is universally beloved by his citizens and who has, in the space of a measly few years, ushered in the greatest era of peace and prosperity that Shin Makoku has ever witnessed in over 4000 years of history.

What most people do not know is that Yuuri is not just a bumbling fool, though he grudgingly admits that this description is sometimes accurate. He is young, and lacking in knowledge, but his old soul is wise. (Some people, however, cannot be fooled. Murata is one of them, having successfully pinned Yuuri as the “leader type”.)

Yuuri may be inexperienced, but clueless? That he is not. Not about extending his friendship to visiting foreign dignitaries in order to achieve the most beneficial treaty, and certainly not about love. Every morning that he wakes up with the sun shining in his hair and Conrad in his arms, whispering, “Good morning, Yuuri. Ready for our run?” is a moment that he thinks, _Yes, this is love_.

On this particular morning, their routine starts as usual. Conrad is already waiting in the courtyard, immaculately dressed and smiling. He absolutely does not look like he was just in bed, rumpled pajamas, tousled hair and all, just fifteen minutes ago. Yuuri stretches a bit, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. They start off, Conrad setting a brisk, challenging pace. The soldier is aware of each tiny signal that his companion gives, and adjusts himself accordingly.

When they return, Conrad grabs the water canteen and Yuuri gets the towels laid out on the bench. They look at each other and, with nothing more than smiles passing between them, suddenly swap items.

The maids, hiding behind the laundry, surreptitiously watch as the scene unfolds, all the while whispering furiously amongst themselves.

“They’re doing that freaky telepathy thing again.”

“It’s like…their _minds_ are touching!”

“A meeting of minds! How romantic!”

Yuuri overhears bits and pieces of the girls’ not-so-secret conversation and he grins, the lop-sided smile stretching wide across, lighting up his face.

“Ne, Conrad. Do you think we’ll ever—”

“—Finish each other’s sentences?”

Yuuri slaps his palm to his forehead, laughing hysterically. A few moments later, Conrad can contain it no longer and follows suit, their voices mingling in the crisp morning air.

The catcher’s job is to be the playmaker, to understand his teammates, especially the pitcher. Even with such an important position, he would still be nothing without his pitcher. The pitcher, then, must also understand the catcher and respond appropriately. Yuuri has become quite a good catcher over the years. He thinks that Conrad is a good pitcher, too.

They make a good team.


	4. The Gift of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has discovered Conrad's secret to good gifts, and he plans to reciprocate.

Whenever Yuuri asks what Conrad would like for his birthday, or for Christmas, which Yuuri has insisted on importing into Shin Makoku for the sole purpose of spoiling Greta, or actually for any event in which there is an exchange of gifts, he gets a smile. It isn’t Conrad’s usual Gentle Smile, his default poker face, but a Real Smile. Deep, secretive, soft, sad, happy, and bittersweet all rolled into one, it’s a complex flavor that Yuuri doesn’t know how to describe. He doesn’t quite understand what it means, exactly. All he knows is that it makes his chest feel tight.

It never lasts, though, because Conrad will smile that other smile, the Amused Smile that says he's being entertained by Yuuri’s antics. And Yuuri will say, “What? What’s so funny?”

And Conrad will say, “Nothing, Your Majesty. It was very sweet of you to offer.”

Of course, having the man who named him calling him by a title never fails to exasperate him, so Yuuri will say something along the lines of, “Call me Yuuri, Nazukeoya! And I just wanted you to have a nice birthday.”

This is about the time when Conrad will smile his other other smile, the one where his eyes squint up until they’re just two arches, two lines of silver lights glittering with mirth under his dark lashes.

Although this smile is one of the most beautiful ones, Yuuri has learned to watch out for it. This is Conrad’s Punny Smile, and true to its name, Conrad will then say, “Oh? A Nice birthday, is it? Well, if I had to spend my birthday in France, I would have preferred to stay in Paris.”

It’s only then that Yuuri figures out he’s been duped, conned by Conrad into dropping the issue of gifts. That’s the model for how things play out whenever there are gifts to be given. In the end, Yuuri ends up giving Conrad something baseball-related. Conrad, on the other hand, has never given Yuuri anything physical. Truthfully, though, after the pendant, any other trinkets would have paled in comparison, so Yuuri is fine with that.

Instead, Conrad gives him trips to the beach and whole days out on the town disguised as regular citizens. He secretly arranges for the festival held on the Maou’s birthday to resemble a Japanese matsuri, just in case Yuuri is homesick, and escorts Yuuri around the food stalls dressed in yukata. He regularly kidnaps Yuuri for a few hours when the throng of well-wishers overwhelms the Maou with their enthusiasm. These are the types of gifts Conrad gives.

Yuuri loves Conrad’s gifts, and he thinks that a new baseball glove is just stupid when juxtaposed with such thoughtful acts. This time, however, is going to be it. This time, Yuuri has discovered Conrad’s secret to good gifts, and he plans to reciprocate.

It is late at night on New Year’s Eve, or technically very early on New Year’s Day, when Yuuri gets up and lays a hand on Conrad’s shoulder. The soldier’s eyes immediately snap open and one hand grasps Yuuri’s wrist while the other shoots out for his sword. His hand is already halfway to the scabbard before a second ticks past. Then Conrad’s face drops from fierce to kind, and the grip around Yuuri’s wrist turns into a caress.

“What is it, Yuuri?” he asks.

Yuuri tugs up, indicating that he wants Conrad to get out of bed. Though the area around Blood Pledge Castle rarely gets cold enough to snow, it is chilly enough outside for them to don their coats before climbing up the castle parapets.

Conrad follows Yuuri, curious as to where they are going. They stop along the east wall, where Yuuri pulls him into an embrace and stands still, one side of his face buried in Conrad’s chest.

“Yuuri?”

“Shh. This is your New Year’s present.”

“I wasn’t aware that it was customary to give presents at this time of year.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply, but he grips tighter and smiles into Conrad’s chest. Conrad smiles back with understanding, and it’s a new smile for Yuuri’s mental encyclopedia. He tentatively puts it down under Grateful Smile, though something nags at the back of his mind, saying that this might just be Conrad’s version of the Lovestruck Grin.

They turn their heads to watch the sunrise, and Yuuri thinks that he has finally understood. Conrad hasn’t been giving him many separate gifts, but only variations on one gift. Now it is Yuuri’s turn to return the favor, so he does. He gives Conrad the gift of time.

It is hatsuhinode, the first sunrise of the year, and the lovers who watch it together are fated to be by each other’s sides for the rest of the year.


	5. Ghost of Your Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in times of peace, a soldier's life is harsh.

The sky is quickly darkening as the soldiers ride through the treacherous mountain passes. They are in von Rochefort territory, the high altitude of the land and the bitter evening wind combining to steal their breaths right out of their bones. Flecks of snow and ice sting their cheeks into blotchy red patches; their gloved hands are curled like gnarled claws, stiff around the reins.

These are hardened men. Though they are Mazoku, a race famed for ethereal beauty, these are men who are not above blotchy faces and stiff hands. They are not above frostbite, broken bones, and gut wounds.

Above all, these men are survivors. In the freezing desperation of this moment, riding hard, pushing and pushing to get out of the mountains before they are buried in coffins of snow, they cling to their hopes and dreams. While the cold makes their bodies ache, their hearts ache with images of what was and what could be, and these vague shadows of happiness are enough to pull them through. It has to be enough, because they cannot give in to despair when despair means death.

The Commander rides in front, somehow maintaining perfect posture even in this storm. His men, some much older than their young leader, look to him for guidance. They want him to be their pillar of strength. They think he is a hero. They think that for a man like that, the dream that keeps him alive must be a dream of something beyond wonderful.

The truth is that the Commander’s dream is indeed a dream of the most precious thing in the world – in any world – to him. However, it is also a very modest dream.

He dreams that he is with his most important person.

An errant strand of hair brushing his forehead is transformed into a sweet caress. The pressure in his lungs isn’t from the frozen air, but from being hugged too tightly. His cheeks are red and painful because they have been laughing so hard. His hands are curled around a pair of smaller hands as he is dragged out for a game of catch.

In the midst of the whipping daggers of wind and ice, and the imposing jagged spires towering overhead, a small warmth blooms in his chest that carries him through hell on earth.

The soldiers finally come out through the foot of the mountains and find themselves on the outskirts of a small village. The people are poor and lack the resources for quartering soldiers, so the Commander gives brief instructions to his men, “Set up camp here,” and “Keep watch for bandits.” They pitch their tents out on the ground, with meager fires made to sputter throughout the night.

As his men settle in, the Commander takes first watch. A beautiful ghost sits beside him, head on his shoulders. When his watch is over, he slips fully clothed into the hard bedroll, the tattered blanket doing little to keep out the cold, but the lovely phantom is holding him, and he survives for one more night.


	6. Warm Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water, water everywhere.

The sight of the King in his castle is usually an uplifting experience for the servants and the guards. He strolls through the halls, the courtyards, the kitchens, the training grounds, and the stables, too. No place is too lowly for him to grace with a smile. No job is too common for him to offer a helping hand.

He is volatile and imperfect, inexperienced and overly idealistic. He means well, but ends up creating a mess nine times out of ten. They love him, faults and all.

The King is often surprised and embarrassed when it is brought to his attention how much he is loved. He blushes as he finishes feeding the horses, and says that he wants to help because he comes from a middle-class family, so he is much more suited to doing honest work as opposed to lounging in the lap of luxury, though perhaps not so suited to hard labor, sorry. He cracks a joke about not understanding the aristocracy, dancing slave girls using giant palm fronds as fans, and something about eating peeled grapes. Besides, his mother taught him to do his chores before going out to play.

The stable boys stare at him, jaws slack in awe. Even though his sense of humor is borderline incoherent, as is the rapid-fire way in which he speaks, he is unbelievable. Like the water that is his element, the King’s presence soothes his people like warm rain.

Sometimes, the King leaves the castle on a quest, or on one of his infamous “business trips”. The servants do not ask where he goes. They do not dare to bring up the rumors that their King is from another world, or the rumors that he is not a pure-blooded Mazoku. They are servants; these things are not for them to know. They pretend that Lord von Voltaire’s proclamation that the King is the son of a merchant from the far away island nation of Echigo is the truth, though no one, not even the master cartographer, has ever heard of this Echigo.

They do, however, bring up the subject of the Commander, and how Shin Makoku’s best swordsman is obviously pining. Calm and composed though the Commander may be, to the trained eyes of the castle betting ring, it is completely evident that the Commander’s eyes will drift to each and every sizable body of water during the King’s absence. They keep a tally.

In this way, they pass the days without their King, business as usual. Everyone waits eagerly for his return, but things are fine because they know he would never abandon them, and that other world (which is purely a nonsensical rumor, of course!) is a very safe place. Strange though it may seem, it is when the _Commander_ is away that the castle’s residents miss their King.

The King is in his castle now, but his heart is elsewhere.

When the King is somber, the castle is subdued as well. He is even more absent-minded than usual. During his morning lessons, Lord von Kleist catches him gazing out the window at That Spot – the place where the soldiers train, or would be training if they were here. No one smiles and waves back, and the King’s breath catches in his throat as he turns back to his studies.

In the afternoon, Lord von Voltaire catches him mumbling while signing papers, “Is he all right? No, it’s… _him_ … He’s like Super– no, Superman was born with his powers. He’s like _Batman_. That guy _always_ comes through. I’m stupid for worrying.”

When night comes and the castle falls silent, the King slips out of his chambers and quietly pads his way outside in pajamas and fluffy slippers. He makes his way to the gate, to the top of the road that leads down to the city. Here, he can see for miles and miles around.

Here, when there’s no one to see his embarrassment, he closes his eyes and lets go. The thoughts and emotions are roiling through him like a storm; he finds it morbidly amusing that in this world, it is enough to cause an actual storm.

The skies part and rain falls down. He isn’t angry, so there isn’t any thunder. Just water, water everywhere, mournfully tapping out the I-miss-yous and the come-home-soons that he can never bring himself to say.

There is no one here to be his warm rain, the way he is for everyone else, so, with his eyes closed, hand clasped around the blue pendant, he makes his own. He stands and lets the water soak all the way through until no inch of skin is left untouched, and still this poor substitute is not enough.

He heaves a sigh, getting ready to return to the castle. But then, in the distance, he hears horses. Eyes snapping open, the King waits on the hill as the soldiers make their way up the winding path. The Commander rides in front, and he is all right, and the King was stupid to worry.

He is grateful for the rain, even if it is further proof of his lack of control, because the only thing more ridiculous than the entire army witnessing their King being caught out in the rain while wearing pajamas and fluffy slippers, would be if their King was also crying.


	7. Just Two Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow they can play at being adults again.

Downtime.

Lord Weller, having finished his evening patrol, sits alone in the courtyard watching the flowers sway in the breeze. He should be grateful to have a moment to rest, but the fact is he’s much more comfortable when he’s working.

Lord Weller is in high demand. When he isn’t acting as the king’s bodyguard, he’s patrolling the borders and protecting the people. When he’s not off defending the land, he’s personally overseeing the castle’s security and the soldiers as they go through practice drills. Correcting grips and stances, or giving out terse instructions, he is always, always in control.

Lord Weller throws himself into service because he is a coward. His duty defines him. He is afraid of who he is (or isn’t) without it, and perhaps he is also afraid of living for himself. He knows this, and yet he forges on, convincing himself that duty is the only way to happiness.

A bush rustles from behind and he turns to see His Majesty approaching, ball and gloves in hand.

“Hey, Conrad! Let’s play catch!”

Lord Weller feels slightly out of his element. It is unusual for His Majesty to be the one to prepare the equipment for their game, or to be the one to approach him in the first place, because Lord Weller is the king’s shadow, and he is always, always attentive.

It should not be the other way around, he thinks. It is bad enough that His Majesty insists on being so familiar with him, even worse that he cannot find the heart to do more than use titles and ranks to distance himself, and even worse still that he feels himself responding.

Seeing an opening to regain his bearings, he hides behind a perfectly polite, perfectly controlled smile. He answers the way proper decorum demands, with a courteous yet impeccably neutral tone.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Instead of his usual retort, His Majesty freezes up for a second, then launches himself gracelessly onto their now-shared bench. Then he takes a deep breath, steels himself, and says, agonizingly simply, just two words.

“Just Yuuri.”

Just Yuuri turns to look at Lord Weller expectantly, holding out a glove. A choice.

Calling himself a fool ten times over, Lord Weller takes it. He lets out a barely audible sigh, dropping his smile, his face, his titles and ranks, and is just Conrad for a while. Just Yuuri and Just Conrad play catch. They play as the sun is setting, and play as the stars shine overhead.

_Swish._

_Thump._

When the sun rises again, they can be His Majesty and Lord Weller, two men whose childhoods were cut short by circumstance. Tomorrow they can play at being adults again – at holding conferences and “talking things through” and drowning in a sea of words but never truly understanding anything.

For now, though, they are just two baseball boys.

_Swish._

_Thump._

Over and over, and all through the night, they wad their feelings up into a ball throw. Yuuri speaks once, and that is only to say, “Baseball players should use baseball to express themselves.”

_Swish._

_Thump._

Conrad carefully wraps his heart into the worn leather in his hands and gives it away. It comes back. He gives it away.

Blood is rushing through his ears. The pounding echoes _thump-thump-thump_ in perfect synchronization with their game.

And in Yuuri’s returns he feels…something strange.

_Swish._

_Thump._

Could it be…?

_Swish._

_Thump._

Could it _be_ …?

_Swish._

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The sound of happiness?


	8. Forces of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfram gasps and struggles to keep his composure as he watches them. He wants to hit something, or throw a fireball at something.

He flips through the books in the library by candlelight, occasionally pausing to take notes and mark pages for future reference. He scans the titles on the shelves and grunts in frustration at some, or hums in pleasure at others.

One of his cousins will inherit control of von Bielefelt lands, but he is still an important member of the family and the commander of his own regiment of soldiers. The members of his personal guard, hand-selected for their exceptional magical skill, are still young, but fine soldiers, all of them. With warriors like these, Shin Makoku has every right to be proud.

Wolfram owes it to them to become a good leader, so he is researching better practice drills for his men – exercises that will complement their combined elemental abilities. In the books for wind users, he comes across ways to control air flow to maximize the potential of fire. In the books for earth users, he comes across ways to mold the ground into wind tunnels.

Fire is easy. Wolfram knows how to deal with fire.

He can combine these techniques, though. He can help train his earth users to make tunnels, and his wind users to push the fire through them. Satisfied with the outline of his new plan, he stacks the books on the corner of the table and packs up his things. Yawning, he returns to his room and gets ready for bed.

As he strips down and gets into his nightgown, he thinks about the elements. His brothers are alike. They have the strength and steadiness of earth. When Wolfram was young, after he found out Conrad had no magic, but before he found out that this was because his brother was part _human_ , he would often wonder about Conrad’s element.

What kind of majutsu would little big brother use, if he could use majutsu? Would he be fire, too? Conrad had a temper, though he tried his best to hide it. Or would he be wind, swift and deadly like his swordsmanship? Wolfram eventually settled on earth for Conrad, partly because of the flowers their mother grew, and partly because Conrad was his rock.

Later on, as his rock fell from under him, he would think, “Maybe he’s water?” partly because of the way he looked in the blue military uniform of the von Wincotts, and partly because of the way he gazed at Julia.

Water, Wolfram doesn’t understand. Yuuri doesn’t even have to try, yet he manages to reduce Wolfram’s anger to nothing but hot steam. Water users are rare, and Wolfram just doesn’t _get_ them. It’s always hit or miss with Yuuri, but most of the time it’s a miss. Wolfram will reach out when Yuuri isn’t paying attention, or Yuuri will reach out just as Wolfram is pulling back. They fumble and slip past each other and never make that _click_.

Sometimes they make contact, and Wolfram gets his hopes up. They’re sporadic events, but every once in a while, the two of them will reach out at the same time and there will be a spark. This is proof that they’re not completely incompatible! This is proof that they can make things work!

He sneaks down the darkened halls and opens the door to the Maou’s chamber. The guard on duty gives him a grin and a wink, and pretends not to see anything. Closing the door just as stealthily as he opened it, Wolfram sneaks his way into the Maou’s bed once again. He reaches for Yuuri, hoping that this will be another rare hit.

Yuuri chooses just that moment to roll away and mumble in his sleep, and it’s a miss.

He falls asleep with a disappointed frown, and in the morning, Yuuri freaks out, as always. He accuses Wolfram of being a “ninja”, whatever that is, and Wolfram snorts and tells Yuuri that he’s a wimp.

Later in the day, Wolfram finds himself in his studio. While deciding on a subject matter for his newest painting, he happens to glance out the window, and he sees it. Them. Yuuri and Conrad.

They’re not even _doing_ anything, but they don’t have to. Everyone can see it in their smiling faces, plain as day, and...

_Snap!_

The brush in his hand lays in pieces.

Wolfram glances up at the canvas and is surprised to see that he has painted a landscape. It’s a beautiful coastal scene, which is different from his usual style. It’s a beach.

He immediately sends a servant to summon the Maou to his studio, and faces him with dull eyes and cheeks drained of color. The weakness of fire majutsu, he remembers the books saying, is that it’s very much skewed toward offensive rather than defensive combat maneuvers. Wolfram does what he does best – he attacks.

“Yuuri. Are we ever getting married, wimp?”

“Don’t call me--! Huh? You look like crap, Wolf. Is something wrong?”

“I asked you a question. Are we getting married? Answer me!” He asks again, and this time he’s trembling. (With rage, he tells himself.)  
Yuuri is wide-eyed and silent. Wolfram glares. For the moment, he clings to the idea of wedging himself between them before Yuuri and Conrad notice the feelings they have for each other. He’ll force himself in, and forcibly carve a space for himself in Yuuri’s heart. He’ll burn it in! Scorch it in!

Romantic love is about fire, desire, and passion! Love is about giving yourself fully to _one_ person, and _only_ one person. Love is about caring more for that one person than you do about anyone else in the world. That’s love; that’s Wolfram’s love.

...But it’s not Yuuri’s love.

Yuuri’s love isn’t like Wolfram’s single flame. Yuuri’s love is like water, and cannot be contained in the same way. It will flow out to all, whether they deserve it or not. Wolfram comes to this new realization and it hurts. He shouts at Yuuri, anger staining his cheeks in place of the tears he refuses to shed.

“All right, then! That’s the answer I needed! Now get out!”

And Yuuri does, stumbling from the room in shock. Naturally, he runs back out to the courtyard to find Conrad, probably to ask for advice about the events that just transpired.

Wolfram gasps and struggles to keep his composure as he watches them. He wants to hit something, or throw a fireball at something. He wants to smash things and stomp his feet and throw a huge tantrum and just scream his despair for the whole world to hear. But he doesn't. He can't.

They are like the land and sea, seamlessly connecting all along the coast. The water ebbs and flows up and down the beach. The land extends deep beneath the ocean. They meet over and over again. The ocean never fails to hit the coast, and Wolfram is forced to admit that there is a certain beauty to this flow. It is a force of nature that Wolfram’s fire cannot stop, and so there is nothing left for him save his pride, which he is determined to keep.

Alone in his studio, Wolfram survives heartbreak and comes out stronger because of it. Like a true warrior, he bows to the painting and gracefully admits defeat. He watches them as they slide in together, the tide finally coming home to the shore.


	9. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was the one who kissed you first!"

 

_What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade._

_~Gertrude Jekyll  
_

It’s June. It’s almost two whole months before his birthday and summer vacation, and right in the middle of baseball season. Nevertheless, it’s the start of Yuuri’s summer.

Yuuri comes back home from school. He calls out “Tadaima!” and bounds up the stairs to his room. It’s time.

This is a ritual he has been doing at the start of every season for the past year. Yuuri leans against the door to his room, back ramrod straight and holding a pencil above his head. He marks it carefully, the fourth mark so far, then shuts his eyes tightly and turns around. Heart pounding with trepidation, nervously chewing on his bottom lip, he gulps and steels himself for the results. He peeks at the door with one eye.

The other eye snaps open and he gasps in shock.

After gaping uselessly for a minute or so, he comes to his senses and grabs the doorknob. His heart is pounding even faster now, as he flings open the door and careens into the bathroom, hell-bent on diving straight into Shin Makoku.

Water fills the tub. It’s lukewarm because both hot and cold dials are cranked up to the max, but he doesn’t care. He’s fully clothed, but he doesn’t care. All he wants to do is get to Shin Makoku as quickly as possible.

“Come on, come on…” he chants at the tub, willing it to fill up faster. When it’s halfway there, he shuts off the water and dives in.

This sucking sensation always happens, no matter how many times he goes between worlds. The portal goes _sluuuurp!_ and Yuuri pops in, mildly disoriented and swirling around and around. He floats for a while in the in-between.

_It’s hot. They’re sweltering in desperation. Tongues and lips and a little bit of teeth and the mingling of panted breaths. Yuuri is clumsy and shaking, but it’s unexpected that Conrad, for all the experience he has, isn’t faring much better. Yuuri lifts his trembling hands and reaches up to undo the buttons on the collar of the ubiquitous military uniform, down the chest, to the navel. He can vaguely feel Conrad’s hands ghosting along his back, sending shivers down his spine._

_The buttons are all off. He hurriedly pushes the cloth apart and slips his hand beneath the thin white undershirt, making first contact with the flushed skin. It’s exhilarating. He can’t get enough of these new sensations – running his hands up and down along the toned chest and abdomen, at times feeling nothing but smooth, unbroken skin, and sometimes lingering over the interesting texture of scars. He takes innocent sensual delight in circling his finger over the circular puncture of an arrow wound while his lips latch on to the tempting jut of an exposed collarbone, and…_

“ _No.”_

_The hands that were wrapped around him in return stop at his shoulders and gently, steadily push Yuuri away. It takes a while for Conrad’s voice to sink in through the pleasurable haze. He keeps glancing back to the red mark he’s just made._

“ _I can’t do this to you. You’re still…so young. I can’t take advantage of you like that.” Conrad’s words come tumbling out like he can’t get them out fast enough. Like he’ll break and give in if he doesn’t get them out fast enough._

“ _But you’d never-- But I was the one who--”_

“ _No, I’ll wait for you.”_

_Wait for me…?_

“Wait for me?! Damn it, Conrad! That didn’t make any sense! I was the one who kissed you first!”

Yuuri comes to, floating in a pool of hot water and slightly embarrassed at his outburst. He flicks off the droplets clinging to his face with a practiced swipe. Looking around, he can see he’s landed in the Maou’s private bath, as planned. This is good, because no one will be here to distract him from his goal. Bubbling over with barely contained excitement, he leaps out and rushes to his room in the castle, drying off and getting changed in record time. Squishy socks fly into a corner somewhere.

Then, running out into the hall, he searches for Conrad. Of course he doesn’t have to look for long, since Conrad has always had the uncanny ability to sense him when he’s near. Rounding the corner, Yuuri spots the familiar figure and runs toward him, unable to stop himself from grinning madly.

“Yuu-- Your Majesty,” Conrad catches himself before he can be, Shinou forbid, _improper_ , but barely.

Yuuri smiles in triumphant self-satisfaction and teasingly says, “You almost called me by my name, Nazukeoya.”

Conrad is about to laugh it off and get all chivalrous, and probably ask if he can escort Yuuri somewhere, or get something for Yuuri, or throw himself in front of a barrage of arrows for Yuuri. (Again.)

Yuuri doesn’t want any of that. He’s not a kid anymore, and he knows exactly what he wants. It’s pretty hard to get a shocked reaction out of Lord Weller, or so he hears through the grapevine, but Yuuri manages to do it quite often. This is another one of those times.

He grabs both of Conrad’s hands and leans forward, pushing the older man backwards. Conrad steps back until he hits the hard stone wall, arms pinned to his side, but Yuuri keeps leaning closer, closer, closer.

Their foreheads bump against each other -- their _foreheads_ bump, he excitedly notes, not head to chest or head to neck like when he tried to do this before. Their _foreheads_ bump and Yuuri’s eyes, wildly sparkling with the simple joy of their _foreheads_ touching, are right in front of Conrad’s. _Yes, that’s right_ , he thinks, _everything matches up now_. And it does. Yuuri is standing flush against Conrad; they are toe to toe and eye to eye.

He whispers breathlessly, hoarsely, and exuberantly against Conrad’s lips, “No more excuses.”

Conrad couldn’t find any, even if he tried.


	10. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are beautiful, no matter what they say.

Conrad says that Yuuri is beautiful, but Yuuri disagrees.

“Shin Makoku’s standards of beauty are way off,” Yuuri says. “People are only attracted to me because my hair and eye color are so rare here, but on Earth I’m really plain.”

But Conrad says that’s not what he meant.

When Yuuri wholeheartedly thanks the cook for a simple meal at a run-down tavern? When Yuuri sets his foot down about providing more funding for education? When Yuuri rides into the countryside to personally teach a ragtag band of half-breed children how to play baseball? When Yuuri weeps for those who have no one else to care about their suffering?

That’s when Yuuri is beautiful.

He wants to tell Yuuri, “Your compassion is beautiful; your soul is beautiful,” but he can’t get so many words out. Even the most eloquent poet would be struck speechless by Yuuri’s beauty, and Conrad’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. It comes out thick and rough and utterly sincere.

“You’re beautiful,” he says again, and this time he knows that Yuuri hears the unspoken words that lie in the silence, in the pauses and their mingling breaths.

However, Yuuri still doesn't buy it. In fact, Yuuri says that Conrad is beautiful...but Conrad disagrees.

“I’ve been called handsome before, mostly by my mother, but perhaps ‘beautiful’ is better suited for Wolfram or Gunter,” Conrad says.

 _Argh! No, that’s not what I meant!_ Yuuri…has a scar on his knee. It’s old and nearly completely faded by now. He got it from roughhousing with his friends in middle school. Three of them had tackled Yuuri to the grassy ground, where instead of getting a green stain on his skin, he’d sliced himself on a sharp pebble.

That’s the thing Yuuri doesn’t know how to get across. Yuuri has scars, but they’re nothing like Conrad’s scars, where each and every imperfection was gained because Conrad did not back down. They’re badges of honor. Spoils of war. Souvenirs from all four corners of _both_ worlds of a life lived to its fullest.

They’re constant reminders of this man’s fearlessness and devotion.

He wants to tell Conrad, “Your courage is beautiful; your heart is beautiful,” but although it’s the truth, it sounds too cheesy even in his mind. Cheesy is okay for TV dramas, but Yuuri doesn’t want to sound like an idiot all the time. He doesn’t trust himself not to cover up his embarrassment with a speech ripped from the soap opera his mother forced him to watch with her the night before.

His breath hitches in his throat as he settles for brushing his thumb over the corner of Conrad’s eyebrow.

“Nah. They’re beautiful, but you’re _beautiful_ ,” he tries to clarify. It still sounds kind of stupid, but at least Conrad will understand. Conrad closes his eyes and leans into the light touch. He even nods a little in acknowledgment, but Yuuri can tell that he has doubts about Yuuri's simple truth.

They sigh, amused at each other's stubbornness, and agree to disagree.


	11. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's a mother, and mothers never run out of love.

The sun rises and the birds call, “Baaaad Omen!” It’s a day like any other at Blood Pledge Castle. Lady Cecilie leans over her balcony, staring out at the land she once ruled, and sighs. It’s a coquettish sound, a light, breathy exhalation that never fails to bring the men to their knees. Cheri smiles ruefully at the thought.

She’s gorgeous and everyone knows it. Surely there’s no need for false modesty! After all, it’s not every day you meet a mother of three with a figure this stunning! And yet… In all her long years, she’s never managed to keep a man she’s roped in.

There was her first husband, who died young. Her second and most beloved, who was human, and died old. Her third, who again died young. And in between all of them were various short-lived beaus and jealous ex-lovers and fun spring flings. At the present, there is her shnookums, FanFan, who she is careful to keep from getting too attached to because he is human and will move on without her, as all three great loves of her life have done so far.

Some people, like her good friend Anissina, think it’s weak for a woman to depend on a man. Cheri disagrees. She thinks there’s a certain emotional strength required to trust someone that much – to give someone that kind of control, and to be responsible for having that kind of control over someone in return.

Anissina is strong in her own way, but not so experienced with love. Cheri knows this because she lives for love of all kinds. She has been burned by love so many times that it’s a wonder she still has any of her own left to give. But of course she does. She’s a mother, and mothers never run out of love.

Down below, two figures speed off along the dirt path. First, she sees the distinctive black hair of the Maou, then the familiar figure of her darling second son. She can feel _it_ in the way they move together. For a moment, Cheri’s flirty expression falls as she makes up her mind to ensure the happiness of her son.

Conrart has had to deal with so much, and from such an early age. It is mostly her fault, she thinks, because she failed him as a mother. With this in mind, she heads down to the courtyard to intercept them as they return.

Her timing is perfect, of course.

“Oh, Your Majesty~ Yuuri~ Over here!” She saunters up and snuggles into the handsome Maou, thoroughly enjoying his squirming and squeaks of surprise, and then she coos at him, “Aww, you’re so cute, as always! Come, I must speak with you for a moment.”

“Mother, please restrain yourself!”

“N-no, it’s okay, Conrad. You go on ahead, and I’ll be right with you.”

Yuuri manages to struggle out of her grasping, stroking hands. He motions for Conrad to go on first, and of course her precious son nods and obeys, leaving them alone, just as planned.

“Oh, so you two are really getting into it now.”

“W-what?!”

Cheri smiles smugly.

“Eh… Ehh?! You can tell? Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a trained eye like mine,” she winks. “Where are you headed now, Your Majesty?”

“We’re just going to wash off in the baths.”

“Ah, I see. I suppose you’ll be returning to the other world, then.”

“Y-yes.”

“And you’ll be taking Conrad with you.”

“Well, yeah. I was sort of planning to tell my mother about…us, and he offered to be there for…uh, ‘moral support’ or something.”

“All right. I just want to confirm one thing,” she says, dropping her coquettish air. The woman standing before the 27th Maou is not a bimbo, but the 26th Maou. She puts both of her hands on his cheeks, turning his head to look directly at her. “Will you promise to take care of my son?”

She lets her hands drop while waiting for his answer.

“…I promise.”

Although Yuuri says it aloud, the real answer is in his eyes as they gaze toward the castle entrance, and in his bearing – in the way his whole body sings. This is an honest love, without pretenses or pride. No matter how many complexities surround their lives, it is a simple, straightforward love. This, Cheri can tell.

She nods and gives him an indulgent smile. “Welcome to the family, Your Majesty.”

He blushes and stutters a ‘thank you’ before taking off, and in his retreating back she sees herself. And when her son peeks out from behind the entrance, too far to have heard their conversation, but not far enough to have lost sight of His Majesty, she sees her lost love, Dan Hiri. And when they walk side by side, she sees things come full circle. She sees the second generation love between a Maou and a soldier. She sees a second chance.

It was her matchmaking plans that resulted in bringing love to her second son. Well, it wasn’t the direct result, but she was still a catalyst. She thinks she’ll start working on her baby Wolfy next.


	12. Topography, Geology, Archaeology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And down and down they go, heading to warmer climes.

His fingertips ghost over closed eyelids, brush past tickling eyelashes, and trail languidly over the curve of a cheek. They sweep across the solid jaw, then down the contours of the long neck. The throat bared before him is all sleek, elegant lines like a sharply cut riverbank. He follows the dips and flows as they lead up to a prominent Adam’s apple.

Yuuri has never felt another man’s Adam’s apple before. It’s a curious feature. His roving fingers press against it lightly, circle around a few times, and chase after it as it moves up and down when Conrad swallows. He makes note of this new discovery and continues down.

Journeying past the twin ridges of collarbones, the inquisitive touch reaches a vast, sun-lit plain. As the early morning light filters through the windows, it casts deep shadows over the terrain. Stretched out like this, the expanse of this chest and torso seems never-ending. Yuuri’s fingers tremble a bit in anticipation. They are still for a moment as he ponders where to begin.

Then, a frenzy of motion. They meticulously map out each valley, each hill. There’s a crater here, from a meteorite, and a rift over there, from an earthquake. And down and down they go, heading to warmer climes.

The skin of the earth heats up under his palms as they traverse the quick succession of dips and rises over abdominal muscles. There’s a cavern here – the navel, and Yuuri’s imagination wanders to fantastic booby-trapped caves with pits of vipers and piles of gold.

He moves on, the brave adventurer, to the mountains of hip bones. Starting from the outer corners, he creeps in closer from both sides. Inward, diagonally descending, closer, and closer, and

“Yuuri, what are you doing?” Conrad flutters one eye open and _smirks_ at him, the bastard. Yuuri doesn’t even have to look to hear the smile in Conrad’s voice.

His hands still as he ponders this new development.

“…Treasure hunting,” he answers guilelessly.

“Treasure hunting?”

“Yeah. You know, like Indiana Jones,” Yuuri says, as if that explained everything.

(Actually, it does.)

“Ah, I see. So what’s the plan, Dr. Jones?” Conrad chuckles, and Yuuri doesn’t even have to hear it to feel the plains rumble.

Yuuri presses his hands more firmly on those hips and moves himself closer. It becomes very apparent that they’re laid bare against each other. Flushed skin molding together, he leans into the mountains and valleys below him. Their bodies press and slide like tectonic plates. Their mouths mesh in a brief volcanic explosion – an exchange of molten, flowing heat that makes his toes curl.

“I don’t know,” he says, panting as they part. “I’m making this up as I go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri would so totally quote Indiana Jones in bed, okay? I stand by this. ORZ


	13. Among the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to know about the stars.

_"It's silly."_

_"Tell me anyway," he says as they sprawl together across the bed of grass. They whisper secretively to each other, less like lovers, and more like kids at a sleepover. The night sky is their blanket. The moon is the stolen flashlight they've brought with them under the covers._

_"That first time we went stargazing, I wanted to name it after you - the pole star in this world."_

_"Why me?"_

Yuuri's not the superstitious sort. Spiritual, maybe, to an extent, but not superstitious. He won't believe in ghosts until he sees them with his own eyes. (He won't completely disbelieve them, either.) Demons are just another race, not so different from humans at all. They have family and feelings. They love, they hate, they laugh, they cry. They're trying their best to carve out a peaceful existence.

He never used to believe in the supernatural until it all rushed up and knocked him for a loop. But now, he's come to doubt it again, if only because the more he comes to know about the other world, the more he understands that the only reason he calls his powers "supernatural" is because he doesn't understand them at all. He wants to, though.

In Shin Makoku, they have schools for mages. They study Magical Theory in classes complete with textbooks and practical lab sessions. Magic, to them, is a science and a skill.

Here on Earth, he's in a physics class, though he doesn't know why, or so he tells himself. What's a jock doing in a physics class? He's not smart enough for this.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, it cuts across like radio waves through space. He wants to know about the world - this one and the other. Time travel, alternate dimensions, and even gateways through toilet water in the ladies' restroom. Can they be explained with black holes, worm holes, the Big Bang, or the exploding contracting expanding infinite finite Multi-Universe? He wants to know about the stars.

During the lecture, he copies equations from the board. After school, he goes to baseball practice, during which his mind halfway flickers to formulas for calculating the trajectories of the pitches, and, when dusk is settling in overhead, he makes his way to the astronomy club where all the other members tease their darling kouhai. It's not every day that the rising star of the baseball team wants to study with a bunch of nerds-with-telescopes, after all.

They set up three telescopes on the roof of the school, and when it's Yuuri's turn to look, his sempai take turns helping him catch up. Recitations of Galileo's discoveries, Kepler's laws, and the Lambda-Cold Dark Matter model of cosmology are mixed in with talk of historic moon landings, Japanese astronauts, and when the next visible meteor shower will arrive. It's all a jumble of information that he can't quite process, but they think if they keep bombarding him with it, he'll absorb it all someday. Today, though, they set out to teach him about stars.

"Last time we told you about types of planets. This time, we'll tell you about types of stars."

There are dwarf stars and giant stars, arranged by color. There are exotic sounding hypothetical stars like quark stars and dark matter stars, but they won't go into detail about those today. And then one of the girls says, "Hey, Shibuya, did you know that there are systems with multiple stars, too? Those are my favorites, the binary star systems. They have two stars that both orbit around a common center. When you see them, it's like they're dancing together."

Her friend chimes in and he says, "Polaris, the north star, is in a triple star system. People used to think there were only two far-apart stars in the system, but there's actually a third. It's much smaller, and so close to the main star that we can't see its light, but we discovered it because of it's gravitational pull on the north star."

Yuuri's eyes widen as he grips the telescope. For some reason, his breathing starts to get faster. He pulls back and stares up until someone says they ought to start packing up.

_"Why me?" he asks with a smile, "Did you want to be my Nazukeoya twice?" With Conrad, he half expects to get a bad joke in return, but the response he gets is heavy with a kind of earnestness that almost makes him uncomfortable._

_"Because you are my guiding light," Conrad says, "All I have to do is think of you, and no matter how far away I am, I will always be able to find my way home."_

_The words make him blush because they're unusually direct. The honesty ties his stomach up in knots because he doesn't deserve that kind of admiration. What has he done to deserve it?_

_"I'm sorry," Conrad continues, "I didn't tell you before because I knew it would trouble you, and it's...as I said, rather silly."_

_"You're right, Conrad. That's pretty silly when you're the one who's been guiding me all this time."_

He's not going back to his house tonight. He bids his friends farewell, then goes through the locker room to the showers. Plunging through the liquid darkness, his arms are outstretched to catch a star like a fly ball. Across the great divide, he reaches for the other half of their binary star system.

Splashing up into waiting arms, he himself is caught. It's night here, too, and the stars are so much brighter without street lights to cloud their view.

They are right outside the castle, and he's just popped through from a barrel of rainwater. Conrad helps pull him out of the container, and he's glad the soldier doesn't ask why he came through such a small body of water when he now has the power to direct his landings and target the comfortable hot baths inside. Because, of course, he would have to say, "I used my powers to find you," and he's not exactly fond of unnecessary embarrassment.

"Let's get you inside quickly, before you catch a cold."

"What are you doing out here, Conrad? Stargazing again?" He hears a tiny puff of air that could have been a hitch in Conrad's breath, and Conrad's eyes widen just that little bit. Caught red handed! Yuuri smiles knowingly as he says teasingly, "I learned some pretty cool stuff today. You know the nameless pole star here?"

"Of course, Yuuri."

"Yeah, I think it's a binary star."

"Pardon?"

"I think there are actually two stars up there that are really close to each other, but one of them is smaller, so its light is kind of eclipsed by the big one. Yeah, there are definitely two stars up there."

Conrad's brows draw down in puzzlement, but Yuuri just smiles brightly. He'll explain it tomorrow, he thinks. Right now, they're going to go inside and have a nice, hot bath.

_You are a star, too. Others might not see you behind me, but I can always feel your pull._


	14. Finding Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conrad has hardly ever been to Japan.

When Conrad had been on Earth, he had tried his best to learn basic English in order to communicate with the people around him. When he had discovered that His Majesty's soul would be born to a Japanese family with plans to relocate to their home country, he had used his limited time to study the language and the culture.

Using a second language to study a third was hardly ideal, but hidden somewhere in Conrad's room is a small notebook that he still uses to practice his stilted kana and kanji whenever he has time. It's something that, like the rubber duck, Yuuri had glanced over with curiosity. And, like the duck, Conrad had passed it off as "just some notes" because he hadn't wanted to admit to the truth of his actions.

_I studied your language just for you. At first I thought it would be enough to learn a few key phrases, so that when Your Majesty arrived in this world, I could help you get settled. I never expected to fall in love with you in such inappropriate ways, nor did I expect to find myself digging up those worn textbooks and reading them cover to cover, hoping to better understand you._

_Yuuri, I want to speak with you in your language._

When he goes over his thoughts like this, Conrad grimaces. He has no choice but to admit that they sound desperate and obsessive. If he lets Yuuri know, it will put too much pressure on the young man to respond to Conrad in some way, be it insincere acceptance or an outright rejection that could negatively impact their friendship. Those are things he cannot stand to see happen.

However, if Yuuri somehow feels that there's anything unusual in the way Conrad looks at him, he doesn't say anything, either. Conrad is a very private man, and Yuuri is a polite man who respects this.

Because he is stubborn and never brings it up, Conrad's studies are conducted independently and in secret, with only the subtlest questions directed at Yuuri under the guise of "passing curiosity" or wanting to know about things tied to baseball. Yuuri, for the most part, seems to think that Conrad knows more than enough about Earth, and only waxes poetic about his homeland to the others, while Conrad is his partner in explaining Earth phenomena to the utterly confused.

Even after the time he spent on Earth, though, Conrad has hardly ever been to Japan. There are times when it is brought to his attention just exactly how much is missing from his book-learned knowledge of the culture. This is one of them.

They're in disguise again, just the two of them out on one of their secret shopping trips. Gunter will be wailing as he paces around the castle, bemoaning His Majesty's lack of work ethic. Conrad is sure he'll get a strict tongue-lashing for this later, as he always does, but Gunter had never been able to stop him from skipping classes in his youth, and the poor man still couldn't seem to keep Conrad in line when it came to freeing His Majesty.

It's started to rain, and the merchants' stalls are closing up due to the inclement weather. Conrad rushes to a vendor whose stall is full of knickknacks and oddities; he quickly purchases a worn umbrella. It's a drab brown thing that's patched in a few places, but it looks sturdy enough, so he brings it back to Yuuri.

He opens it and holds it above both their heads, making sure to keep the patched portions on his side just in case it starts to leak.

And then he looks at Yuuri, who's staring back with a violent blush, jaws slightly slack in what could have been an expression of horror.

"Your Majesty?"

"N-no, it's nothing. Thanks, Conrad!"

"All right then," he says, gesturing to the tavern down the road. "Shall we?"

It certainly doesn't feel like nothing, but Conrad won't pressure Yuuri to explain. As they walk toward the tavern for shelter, Yuuri tries his best to scoot to the edge of the umbrella so that they're not too close to each other. He keeps sneaking glances at Conrad. He keeps blushing uncontrollably, but whether this is from discomfort or... something else, Conrad never asks and Yuuri never offers.

When they reach their destination and the umbrella comes down, everything is as it was.

And that's... just fine with Conrad. It's just fine. He doesn't need anything more than Yuuri's happiness. He's stronger than this; he can forget this momentary intimacy.

 

* * *

 

It's not until they've been together for three years that he finds out. It's not until they're sharing an umbrella together on the busy streets of Tokyo, with Yuuri leaning against him, half-blushing and half-laughing at the girls that stop every few minutes to squeal and take photos of them, that he starts to realize what his actions meant back then.

This umbrella, unlike the one from before, is a loud burst of multi-color stripes shoved into their hands by Jennifer as they set out in sunny weather. It's an attention-grabber, but that alone shouldn't have gotten them those kinds of reactions. _Is seeing two men like this so strange?_ he wonders. They had been out together before, and no one had ever taken notice, but now the stares and giggles are getting out of hand.

With their arms full of gifts, Yuuri makes his escape and pulls Conrad along through the sudden downpour. They run through the city, both still clutching onto the umbrella, until they come to a park. Because of the rain, the area is nearly deserted. Dashing through wet grass, swerving around flower beds, they come to a place hidden among the trees. There's a rickety old bench here, and Yuuri laughs again as he sees what appears to be a marker taped to it.

All along the bench are drawings of umbrellas. Conrad leans down in curiosity. He squints and mumbles under his breath as he tries to make sense of the words written there, and--

"They're names."

He's momentarily stunned by the implications, but Conrad can never resist subtly teasing Yuuri. "Is this by any chance one of those locations where clandestine young couples like to rendevous?"

"Geez, Conrad, you make it sound so dignified. It's a make-out spot." Yuuri teases back in his usual manner. Very bluntly.

"I've seen places like this in Boston, though there were usually hearts and not umbrellas." Conrad takes care not to mention that, in his experience thus far, those places were usually dirty bathroom stalls.

"Ah, yeah... Well, sometimes we do umbrellas in Japan."

Laughing with childish glee, Yuuri uncaps the marker and wipes away the moisture. He draws another umbrella on the creaky bench, after which he writes the characters that Conrad has come to recognize from the Maou's signature. Yuuri hands the marker over with an expectant grin, and Conrad, shaking his head in amusement, complies as he always does.

He takes the marker, hand lingering over Yuuri's just a little longer than necessary, and on the other side of the little umbrella, writes his name in shaky kana, コ ンラッド. The marker is nearly out of ink, so it's more of an exercise in pressing deep enough to carve his love into the wood.

Yuuri presses closer to him, puts his arms around Conrad's neck to pull them together. Their smiling lips meet under the cloudy sky, under the trees. Under their shared umbrella, they find shelter in each others' hearts.


	15. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conrad has a thing for walls. Yuuri has a thing for rambling thoughts.

_It's all right to cry; I'll hold you_   
_Your sadness tore the shape of a heart_   
_In the center of my chest_

 

 

The hair under his fingers is soft, and he trails his fingers down. They whisper down his lover's nape where his short nails press down in slow circles, fingertips searching around the shoulders for knots to ease. And up again, they move to tuck stray strands behind an ear. He puts as much comfort and reassurance as he can into these actions. A soft grunt; an imperceptible stirring. His sleeping lover's breathing evens out even as his lips are still pulled down into a frown.

Yuuri wraps his arms tighter around Conrad and feels his heart twinge in shared pain. He resists the urge to clutch at the hollow ache in his own chest in favor of clinging tighter to Conrad and hoping that his presence is enough to soothe away the nightmares. And hoping that the bond that connects them, which he has begun to be able to consciously sense after growing into his powers, will be able to deliver this message.

Conrad has a thing for walls, and it's not just about the part where he's always leaning against them. It's this part of him that's sort of... cute. Not in the "big shiny eyes" or "tiny helpless kitten" sort of way, but more like... Here is a man who, outwardly, is perfectly confident and confidently perfect. It's rare for him to show any hints of emotional fragility, and there are walls around his heart.

He leans against them in a way that seems nonchalant, but is actually very guarded. Alert. Defensive. No-way-can-anyone-stab-him-in-the-back. And Yuuri used to wonder, "Why is that? What's with the thing he has for leaning against walls with his arms crossed? Is the cold stone wall really more comfortable than a _chair_?"

Conrad is all smiles whenever the subject comes up, and Yuuri would roll his eyes and say, "Whatever. Fine, _don't_ tell me."

It had remained a mystery until Yuuri had noticed that Conrad's arms were always crossed just so; crossed in such a way that brought his right hand closer to the hilt of his sword while his left elbow was in the way, obscuring the details of his movements from possible foes.

It's this guarded nature that Yuuri thinks is as cute as it is admirable. No one gets past Conrad's defense, except Yuuri did, and that makes him feel special and giddy and embarrassed and protective all at once.

Being like this, or even feeling like this, is not something that he ever expected to happen. Conrad is older than him, and stronger. Calmer, more mature, more experienced in just about everything. Yuuri has no delusions of ever having the kind of physique that Conrad has. He isn't a swordsman, and he will never have a swordsman's corded muscles, lean and tough like a taut bowstring.

Yuuri is a king who lives a soft royal life. Aside from the occasional adventure, he spends his days behind a desk full of paperwork. He is attended to by an entire regiment of guards, servants, retainers and the like. It's true that he's the most powerful person in the kingdom when it comes to the sheer amount of maryoku he has, but it's just too bad that strong maryoku doesn't translate into strong anything else, because he's sort of gotten sick of having his ass handed to him every time there's a physical confrontation. (Okay, really sick. It's not fair! Why do the bandits always find a way to sneak up on him? There should be a limit to how often a person gets kidnapped, even if they are a little bit too trusting at times...)

But if there's one thing he's learned in all these years, it's that sometimes people make stupid rules. They make stupid rules but take them so seriously because there's no one from the outside who can come in through an inter-dimensional toilet and tell them that it's stupid. Shin Makoku is lucky to have someone with his outsider's common sense to tell them that slapping people is a bad way to declare love, and that women shouldn't be thrown into prison camps for having interracial relationships, and that it's really not okay to Destroy All Humans.

Similarly, sometimes Yuuri wishes he could find another magical toilet that would take him into the past just so he could smack some sense into his younger self. Because all the rules that they have on Earth about who you're allowed to marry and who you're allowed to fall in love with... are kind of bullshit now that he's thought about them. It would have been nice if he'd come to that realization sooner, because then he wouldn't have had to spend all that time questioning his own sanity and masculinity.

It's ironic how the things that seem like common sense to him now were major epiphanies when he first thought about them. Like the fact that being in love with another man doesn't mean you have to swoon and weep like a shoujo manga protagonist. As if he could ever act as cutesy as that, with all the constant sighing and flowery backgrounds!

There's also the fact that sometimes love doesn't actually change people as much in real life as it does in certain TV dramas, especially the ones that his mom likes, where the lovers tend to fall out of touch with reality and end up in a Twilight Zone where nothing else matters but their love.

Yeah... No. Yuuri's soft puff of laughter blows through Conrad's hair, to which Conrad mumbles sleepily and snuggles further in.

No, Yuuri is still Yuuri, even now that he's admitted to himself that the weird tingly feeling he gets around Conrad is called "love". And he still wants to do the things he has always wanted to do, like go out for ramen after the game, or protect the people he cares about. It's just how he is. He doesn't like it when he sees injustice. He doesn't like it because good people get _hurt_ in those situations, and even though the scars may not be visible on the surface, he can see it in their eyes, or in the cracks around the walls they build around their hearts. If Yuuri can do anything to make sure that the hurt fades, he'll do it.

So, with all of that, what does it matter if he's the shorter, skinnier guy? If he can't even lift Conrad, much less carry him when he's injured, or catch him when they fall off a cliff? It doesn't mean he has to swoon and let Conrad do all the protecting. There are other ways of being a strong man.

Even back then, even when he was just a fifteen-year-old brat who had no idea what he was doing in this world, Yuuri had felt like he wanted to protect Conrad's heart. It means a lot to him to know that he's able to do that now, so even if Conrad probably can't hear him, Yuuri says it anyway.

"Thank you, Conrad, for letting me in."


	16. Dreams Don't Turn to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dreamer is a dreamer always.

His father was an unabashed romantic. When Conrad was young, he sat on his father's lap while listening to tales of far-off lands, mystical creatures, and forbidden spells. His favorite story, however, was always the one about the young human hero who fell in love with a beautiful demon queen. It was his favorite because it was the only one he knew for sure to be true.

His mother is also a romantic; is widely renowned for it even beyond the borders of Shin Makoku. And who could blame her? When Conrad had learned the truth behind the boxes and keys, he had also learned that, to Shinou, his mother's existence was but that of a cog in the works. Her three marriages had been planned out from the start as the means to produce the keys, lining them all up like ducks in a row so that the prophecy would be easier to fulfill when the time came. Reality had never been kind to her, so Conrad understood why she preferred her garden of dreams - the world of her own making where she married for love and love alone.

Conrad is, perhaps, the worst - the most hopeless - romantic of them all.

From the time he could walk, he had been saving imaginary villages from terrible ogres. Slash! Parry! With his wooden practice sword, he acted out the great deeds of a traveling mercenary or righteous mage-knight. At times he was a mysterious warrior from an island far to the east, and then he was a masked vigilante, then a blacksmith's apprentice forced to take up the sword to save his family. He was the wise master who needed to pass on super-ultimate sword skills to his charge, the honorable Wolfram, before he succumbed to illness. He was a gladiator, living day to day in the arena, clinging to the hope of freedom and tearful reunion with his love.

Conrad dreamed of traveling to the edges of the world, and of jumping off into the great unknown. He did everything, accomplished the hardest of tasks, and it was all for his love. For his love, to whom his affections never wavered.

Reality was bitter, and soon he had to throw away those dreams. He wanted love, but found only scorn and disapproval. Childish romanticism had no place in war. The truth behind storybook heroism was full of scars, blisters, infections, malnutrition... A "hero" carried death upon his shoulders as a constant companion. A "hero" could not be that pure prince upon a shining white steed, coming to steal the hearts of maidens everywhere. His old dreams he tossed into the funeral pyre along with the bodies of fallen soldiers.

But a dreamer is a dreamer always. From the ashes of his discarded heart grow new dreams, and they grow alongside the weeds which spring up to choke them out, and they grow until they entangle him from head to toe; they ensnare him, body, mind, and soul. They feed on his sorrow and self-neglect, self-loathing. He cannot cut them out, neither the dreams nor the weeds. He cannot burn them again unless he wants to risk them to growing back stronger and more twisted than ever before.

It is in Conrad's nature to be a romantic. It is in his nature to have a heart wild with unattainable desires; with passions he dares not voice even to himself.

The weeds whisper to him from the darkened corners of his mind. They whisper to him even as he feels a shifting in the undergrowth that signals that his soul has found something, someone new to latch onto. It's a strong pull that he can't deny. There's no way to ignore the singing in his soul as it reaches out for the other. It's like he's gained a sixth sense, and it makes him want to hold out hope for the impossible.

The other tentatively reaches out for him, too. He feels it, sometimes, a light brushing against their connection. Curious, inquisitive, full of awe at this new discovery. "It's amazing," he imagines it saying breathlessly.

What new love could grow from this? The prospect is daunting. It's too much. No, he thinks, it is better to continue listening to the weeds.

_You love him, but you are not worthy of his love._

_Your affections will never waver, but he will never know._

_His happiness will become your happiness._

_You do not deserve happiness of your own._

_You do not deserve... to be loved._

The words are cruel, so cruel. They say things that the dreamer in him doesn't want to hear. But it's necessary to say them. They keep his romanticism in check. They are safe. For now, they keep his heart safe.


	17. Red-handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's not what it looks like!"

“Okay, I’ll teach you,” Yuuri says. He sticks both hands out to Conrad, palms up. “Put your hands on top of mine, and hold ‘em there with our palms barely touching.”

Conrad does so, and although part of Yuuri’s mind knows that he’s being childish, and it chides him for making Conrad indulge his whims so often, still... Well, Conrad seems to be having fun as well, and that’s all that matters, right?

The other part of his mind, that very same childish part, cackles evilly at the thought of surprising Conrad with the full force of the absurdity and randomness of this Earth game before he explains the rules. He makes good on this before he can think too much and back down.

_Smack!_

“Gotcha!”

Conrad jerks his hands back with a gasp. “What was--?”

“That’s it, the whole game! You take turns trying to slap each other’s hands. Here, I’ll be on defense this time.” He sticks his hands out again, palms down. “You try to hit me, and I try to pull back before you can.”

Yuuri fixes his eyes on their hands, concentrating on the way his palms hover over Conrad’s. He feels the warmth emanating from below; memorizes it in preparation for when it will disappear. At the first touch of cool air, his reflexes kick in and he pulls--

“Ow!” It’s too late. “Aw, man... I should have known you’d be good at this, with your crazy monster reflexes...” Yuuri sighs and shakes his stinging hands. He cricks his neck and composes himself. “All right, one more time!”

“STOP!”

It’s Wolfram’s voice. They turn toward the blond prince to see him herding curious onlookers out of the banquet hall. The onlookers themselves are all, if not fleeing from Wolfram’s fiery wrath, staring wide-eyed and drop-jawed at their Maou and his companion. Yuuri remembers, then, that they’re not alone, but rather hosting a small dinner party that should have long been over, but for the few stubborn guests who refused to leave before they got a word in with the Maou.

“Out, out! Everyone out!” Wolfram continues his red-faced shouting until everyone has left. Even the most indignant of the lords and ladies cannot stand against his explosive anger.

Yuuri thinks that he should be grateful for Wolfram’s assistance in ending the party that was boring him to death, except that something must be very wrong for him to suddenly burst out like that. And that “something” is probably Yuuri’s fault. And he’s going to get a tongue-lashing he’ll never forget. And maybe a fireball or two lobbed at his head, depending on how bad it is.

Wolfram slams the door in the face of the last evicted guest, then turns to pin Yuuri with his glare. “What in the world are you two doing with your hands? Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is? And you dared to do this in _public_ , no less!”

“What’s inappropriate, Wolfram? Red hands? Did you want to play, too?”

“Don’t drag me into your depravity, you unfaithful-- You cheater!”

“I am not a cheater!”

Conrad smiles and says to his little brother, “Yuuri has been very faithful. But of course you are welcome to join us for a game of ‘red hands’ if you would like.”

Wolfram blanches and physically recoils. His lips curl up as he shakes his head in disgust. “You guys are sick.”

“No, Wolf, it’s not what it looks like - not that I know what you think it looks like, but whatever it is, that’s not it! I mean, it’s a game, see, where you slap--”

“Just get a _room_.” He wrenches open the door, slams it, and stomps down the hallway in exasperation, leaving the lovebirds to their sick, sick game.

Yuuri is confused. Very confused. “What... what just happened here?”

Conrad is still smiling. His grinning lips are, in fact, starting to look more and more devious every second. “You said it yourself. It’s a game where you _slap_.”

“But it’s just the hands! What the hell could a slap on the hand mean? Gunter would have told me if it meant something. I didn’t even drop a knife or a spork or whatever!”

“Gunter is a bit older, you see, and too proper for hand-slapping...”

Yuuri narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Spit it out, Conrad. What are you trying to say?”

“I believe you just propositioned me.”

“Oh. Oh god, no.”

“And I accepted.”

“Oh, shit. We did this in _public_?” Yuuri gives in to the urge and buries his head in his hands. His cheeks are burning up. He’s never going to live this down. But then he freezes as it hits him, and he jerks his head back up. “Wait a minute, Conrad... You find this amusing, don’t you? You’re laughing at me!”

Conrad shifts his eyes away, looking to the side in faux-innocence. But oh, that damnable little smirk gives him away.

“Pervert,” Yuuri says, and he slaps Conrad’s hand once more in mock-anger.

Conrad smacks him back just as playfully.

In the morning, their hands are suspiciously red, and rumors abound throughout the castle.


	18. Involute Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never sees anything, but he feels things and he knows things.

The first time Yuuri has the dream, he wakes up before he can figure out what's going on. When his eyes snap open, he just lays there, alone on his giant bed, mind fiercely turning to decode the strange subconscious world he had witnessed.

In his dream, Yuuri had been lucid - that is, he had known he was dreaming. But where his usual dreams were a jumble of surreal images, in this one there had been nothing to see. It was all just... darkness. Until. He felt. A touch.

Yuuri shakes his head to rid himself of these thoughts. The human mind is a weird place, he thinks. Sometimes your mind plays tricks on you, he rationalizes. If he were honest with himself, though, the other presence in the dream had felt like Conrad.

Yawning, pushing the covers back, Yuuri carefully pads out of the darkened room and down the hall. He knocks on Conrad's door and slips inside just as the other man is about to get up.

"Yuuri? Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, slipping under the covers. It's a bit of a tight fit, but he doesn't mind because the bed is warm.

"All right, then," Conrad whispers into his ear. "Good night."

He feels Conrad's bangs brushing across his brow and down to his cheeks, the hairs tickling just a bit as Conrad leans in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Night..."

Yuuri closes his eyes and, as he drifts off, he feels Conrad pulling him closer, resting a hand on the small of his back.

 

 

 

The next few times Yuuri has the dream, it gets clearer and clearer until he can no longer pretend that this is something ordinary.

He never sees anything, but he feels things and he knows things. Lately, he has started hearing things too. There will be the patter of rain or an indistinct conversation in the background. In the most recent dream, he could smell fresh baked bread. The dreams are now much longer as well. They're just going to increase in intensity, so Yuuri is wary when he goes to bed this night, one week after they began. His mind is preoccupied. He tosses, turns, considers seeking out Conrad, but then decides not to bother anyone with his embarrassing neediness. Finally, Yuuri falls asleep.

In the beginning, there is a comforting warmth much like his mother. This is joined by another indistinct presence - older, male, fatherly. Yuuri realizes that he's sensing a family scene, and true enough, there are suddenly two boys to play with. One is older and one is younger, and together they flip pages and jump scenes in this book. It is... like a book, he thinks. Like an audio book.

The three children play together. There's a jump. The older boy has died in an accident and tears are coursing down his cheeks as he comforts the younger brother. Is he himself here? No, he just somehow knows what it feels like to be in the body of this novel's protagonist. Before he can dwell anymore on this, the dream gets clearer yet again. He - Yuuri - no, the protagonist, is at last about to speak.

"Hush now. Brother would not have wanted to see you cry like this. Be strong for him, Delchias."

The voice that comes out is a soft, soothing alto. It is Suzanna Julia's voice.

 

 

 

Yuuri frantically scrabbles for purchase. He's terrified, sinking into Julia's memories while futilely trying to claw his way out of the sleepy bog. All the while, scenes from Julia's life are playing out in front of him. He raises his hands to clap them over his ears so that he hears nothing but the panicked beating of his heart and the echoes of his shaky gasps.

He has to get out of here! He's not Julia! His soul doesn't have those kinds of memories, does it? Yuuri doesn't want to know all the intimate details of someone else's life. He doesn't want to be an intruder in this way, even if the person he's spying on is, in a way, himself.

Still in his dream body, Yuuri sinks to his knees, trying his best to block out all of his senses. But it's only partially successful. He can block out the voices, but he can't stop automatically knowing what's going on when Julia touches something. The sensations of many, many different people leading him somewhere, the reverent brush of lips against the back of his hand as an elegant gentleman kneels before him... They blur in his mind as the real Yuuri slumps down in denial, shaking his head with its covered ears, "No, no..."

Yuuri comes screaming out of the abyss.

"Deep breaths, Shibuya. Stay with me now - your name is Shibuya Yuuri. Deep breaths."

There are hands on his shoulders holding him down. His vision is still blurry as he follows the instructions. When Yuuri has regained a semblance of control, he looks at Murata questioningly.

"Can you help me?" Yuuri cringes at how desperate he sounds, but if it's Murata, maybe...

"I'll try. We'll get you through this, okay?"

"Does anyone else know?"

"Not yet," Murata says.

The rest of the night is spent with Murata by his bedside, explaining to him how these memories work. Murata says that it's always the most recent past life that comes to him first, and then it's a journey backwards in time. He usually doesn't remember being Daikenja directly until sometime in his teenage years. Indirectly, of course, he knows of his origins through the other lives' memories within memories.

Yuuri repeats again and again how he doesn't want to see more of Julia's life. He is afraid to go back to sleep.

Murata tries to soothe him by saying that they'll plug up the leak. They'll staunch the flow before he starts remembering who came before. But wouldn't it be nice, Yuuri thinks, if they could gouge out the remnants of Julia in his soul?

 

 

 

When Yuuri assembles them all to explain what's happening to him, his insecurity gets the better of him and he half-expects Conrad to show some signs of being glad to have Julia back.

There is nothing like that, and he is somewhat relieved. Conrad is merely concerned that Yuuri might be in pain.

"Will you be all right, Yuuri? Would you like someone to stay with you?" Conrad throws a glance at Anissina. "Perhaps a sleeping draught?"

Anissina's eyes light up with unholy glee. "I have the perfect prescription! The Manic Insomniac One-Two-Knockout Fruit Punch will have you down for the count! It floats like a kotsuhizoku and stings like a bearbee! Not that bearbees sting."

"Uh... no thanks, Anissina," Yuuri says. "I'm afraid I might never wake up if I drank that."

"It's non-alcoholic." Anissina says this as if it actually means something, but it doesn't, or Yuuri thinks it doesn't. He's not quite sure, but it's still safest to decline the offer.

Yuuri continues his assurances to the others that he will be fine for the time being. He'll tell Murata straight away if things get worse. Meanwhile, Shinou, Ulrike, and even Gisela have joined in the effort to help with the cure, and they are getting close. Besides, the dreams are far from nightmares. Having them doesn't do harm to anything at all (except his sense of self, but this he does not say).

It's getting late, and Yuuri bids them all good night. Conrad is reluctant to leave. He walks Yuuri to his room, and hesitates at Yuuri's side once they are there. And then he says, "I love you for you."

That night, Yuuri dreams again. He is nearing the end of Julia's life, and as he is awash in Julia's memories of Conrad, and of Adelbert, and of Julia's choice... Yuuri comes to an understanding. Julia's passion was reserved for Adelbert. That is not the choice that Yuuri would make, but Yuuri is not Julia.

Reading his own soul is just like reading any other story. The reader and the narration are intimately entwined, but capable of differences of opinion; of differences in the perception of events. One is alive, moving forward in time, and the other has stopped. His past lives exist only as fleeting thoughts and memories. They are lines of smudged ink on spiritual paper.

And Yuuri finds that it's not bad at all, knowing who Julia was. Because she was herself, just as Yuuri is himself, and just as they, together, are one. Even if they are one soul, it is not only the soul that loves, but also the heart and the mind. And those, Yuuri is relieved to say, he has all to himself.


	19. Displacement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri, you do realize that you just made _two_ Conrad-worthy puns in that one declaration?”

Yuuri picks up a bird one day, and proudly proclaims, “And his name shall be Jiro!”

Then he ruins the grand feeling of a kingly proclamation by further saying, “Because he’s a _mejiro_ , you know. It just fits. And because Pochi was the first flying child of my heart, and so Jiro is my _jiro_ , my second son he’s my baby he’s so cute aren’t you, Jiro, aren’t you? Aww~”

“ _Peep_ ,” says Jiro. His pinky-gray skin and oversized head are frankly ridiculous.

To Wolfram’s credit, he doesn’t try to rename the baby bird something more refined, like possibly “Reginald”. He does, however, secretly think to himself that Jiro looks far more like a Reginald than he does a Jiro. Wolfram also manages to bring up something that everyone else in the room was thinking.

“Yuuri, you do realize that you just made _two_ Conrad-worthy puns in that one declaration?”

“What? No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“No I _didn’t_.”

“Yes you _did_.”

“Peep-peep _peep_.”

“Jiro’s hungry. I’m going to feed him.”

 

 

Jiro is a Japanese White-eye, a type of small songbird known as the mejiro. He fell from the tree in the Shibuya family’s backyard. When he grows up, he’ll be a beautiful green with white rings around the eyes. Right now, he has pin feathers sticking out everywhere, his beak opens ridiculously wide, and he seems to think Gwendal is his mom. (It must be the green.)

Jiro sits in a nest on the Maou’s desk made of tissues and paper clips. Lady Anissina is researching how to make the most nutritious baby-bird formula. Greta knits nothing but bird-friends for Jiro to snuggle with. Everyone has gone crazy.

Wolfram thinks all this while painting Reginald’s portrait. He has a stately profile.

 

 

“Yuuri, I’m serious about this. You’re _displacing_.”

Yuuri looks up from where he was brushing Jiro’s itchy pin feathers with a toothbrush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wolf. Except that you’ve been getting into my psych books again. If you love them so much, you should just go take the test in my place.”

Brush, brush, brush.

“You know you coddle that baby bird more than is healthy. You pour all your affections for _him_ into caring for that ridiculous bird. If you weren’t such a wimp, _wimp_ , you would do so to the real thing. Preferably without ceasing to feed yourself this time.”

Brush, brush, pause.

“... Jiro _is_ the real thing. There’s only one Jiro, even though he’s the second son. Isn’t that right, Jiro?”

“ _Peep_.”

“See? Jiro resents your accusations of him being a replacement or whatever.”

“Fine, Yuuri, _whatever_. Just go see Conrad before your nesting instincts infect even more of the castle.”

Stick a fork in him because he is _done_ , seriously. What even is his life. Wolfram can’t believe he has to have this stupid talk with this stupid _Yuuri_ about spectacularly failing to cope. He huffs out of the room. But not before stealing the toothbrush to give Reginald some very majestic chin-scritches that have his little eyes closing up in joy.

 

 

“Hey, um, hey, Conrad. I don’t know if you can hear me, but this is Jiro. Jiro, this is Conrad. So, Wolfram thinks I named Jiro after you because I went insane because I miss you a lot and you know I was pretty much always by your side in the beginning but then they had to stage an intervention to get me away and I’m sorry I didn’t come back after that. And stuff.

“I still think it’s my fault that you were injured, but you’ll wake up soon, right? Then you’ll meet Jiro for real and you’ll give me that look, like you think I’m weird but you don’t want to say anything. I didn’t _mean_ to name him after you, _honest_. I just... wish there was something more I could do... to take care of you.”

 

 

Jiro sits on Conrad’s chest. His first set of feathers has come in nicely, thanks to daily toothbrush rubs. He’s now a plump, fluffy gray chick, and has started perching and hopping.

“His name is Jiro, you said. Is that after the baseball player?”

“No, I think you’re thinking of Suzuki _Ichiro_.”

“Oh, right. Yankees?”

Gods, what is this. Wolfram thought it was over, but now he’s sure it was just the beginning. Yuuri bustles around the room doing completely unnecessary things like fetching water even when Conrad says he’s not thirsty. Conrad _utterly ignores how his lover has gone insane and named a bird after him_.

“You two are so stupid. I can’t even.”

He huffs out of the room again, leaving Yuuri to build a blanket nest around Conrad.

But not before he steals Reginald.


	20. The Normal Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the world were sane, Yuuri and Conrad would be considered the normal ones. (The world is not sane, either one.)

Yuu-chan is four years old when he realizes he's not normal. Mama drops him off for his first day of pre-school with equal parts tears and laughter. He's wearing his best dress, the blue one with the silver ribbon. Blue is his favorite color.

Mrs. Anderson calls him an adorable sweetheart and ushers him into the classroom. Yuu-chan heads for the trucks, but the boys won't let him play. "No girls allowed," they say.

Yuu-chan, arms crossed, says, "I'm not a girl."

"That's _weird_ ," they say, and still won't play with him.

The girls come for him then, and he's invited to a tea party. That's okay too. The girls are his friends until they see him go to the boys' bathroom. Then they're not sure if they're allowed to play with him or not.

Mrs. Anderson starts giving him concerned looks, like she thinks he doesn't know what boys and girls are. Yuu-chan knows he is a boy - he's been saying so since the beginning - but he doesn't have the words to tell her.

That evening he tells Mama instead.

"I don't want to wear dresses anymore."

 

 

 

Yuu-chan is five and still not normal, even though he only wears boys' clothes and only has boys for friends.

Sometimes Katie comes over to pet his head. She says she likes his hair. He's the only kid in class with black hair and eyes. "It's not like other people's hair," she says. "It feels like a horsie's tail."

Something in Yuu-chan squirms at her words. "Thanks," he says to her, because Mama taught him manners, and that's what you say to people who compliment you. He doesn't know why this compliment doesn't make him feel good.

Part of Yuu-chan wants the girls to invite him to another tea party, or to play house or something. But then, he's kind of glad they don't really play with him anymore. Even though the girls are all in agreement that horses are The Best Animal, Yuu-chan doesn't want to be a horse. He wants to be a boy.

Boys are better than girls. They've all forgotten about the time he came to school in a dress, or the times after that when he still had barrettes in his hair. He's officially one of them now. He's normal to _them_ , at least. At recess, they run through the playground together, laughing and laughing…

Yuu-chan is having such a good time that he can't pinpoint when it all goes wrong. After their near-death-high-speed-getaway from being tagged "it", Yuu-chan, breathless, shouts, "Oh man, that was the best! Did you see the look on his face when he missed!"

And Paul, who is supposed to say "Yeah!" instead says "What?" and then "Whoa, Yuuri's talking funny."

All the blood drains from from his face. His fingers turn into icicles as he realizes there's _no way_ he'll ever be able to recover from this mistake.

He got his languages mixed up. Goodbye, normal. He's foreign again.

 

 

 

Yuuri is six and has renewed his hopes of fitting in. Leaving Boston was hard, but Japan is his homeland! Even though he's never actually _been_ to Japan, Japan is where Japanese people belong, isn't it? (Even though he's technically also an American citizen…)

Yuuri thinks he pulls off his self-introduction flawlessly - he'd practiced it at home. Sure, he's a little behind his classmates on some subjects, but he's pretty good with languages - he'll catch up soon. Yuuri is very, very careful not to slip into English, and he succeeds.

Ah, everything is great! He looks just like everyone else and talks just like everyone else. Sometimes the other kids mention pop culture stuff he's never heard of, but Yuuri's gotten smart about pretending to be normal. He stays quiet, pretends to be a bit shy, and then goes home to research so he can talk about it the next day. His act is perfect.

...But somehow, he still stands out. Because it's a small school, word gets out. _Kikokushijo_ , the teachers whisper about him with something like an air of awe. A "returnee" is considered a rare specimen. He'd purposely left that bit out during his self-intro, but they still find out, and now everyone wants to know what America was like, and they ask him to speak English to gawk at his foreignness. The bitter ones snub him as a "shitty elite" even though it's not like he _chose_ to be bilingual. It's not like he _chose_ to be born while his father was posted overseas.

He _does_ choose to stop using English. He lets it deteriorate and doesn't hold on, pretends so hard not to know the language and buries it all so deeply within him that he actually forgets most of it.

It takes years, but finally, Yuuri really does become normal when he enters junior high. Finally.

 

 

 

Yuuri is fourteen and punches his coach For Justice. Well, there goes his normality. Shit.

At least it's the last year of junior high. In high school, no one will know who he is or what sorts of delinquent acts he committed. He'll have to avoid the baseball team because baseball boys _gossip more than neighborhood aunties_ , but that's fine. Honestly, Yuuri's not even good at baseball. Not good enough for him to risk the tattered remnants of his reputation for it, anyway.

High school will be a brand new, fresh, totally normal start.

 

 

 

Yuuri is fifteen and the king of an alternate dimension kingdom. Shit.

Also, he's starting to question his sexuality. Double shit.

Every internal monologue he has begins with "I'm just an average guy" or "I'm a regular Japanese boy" or "I like girls, but…"

Wait, "but"? What is this "but" doing here?

It's not fair. Yuuri wants to conform, but the world just won't let him. He's been sticking out his whole life, taken numerous poundings for it, and still his oddness won't subside.

At least living in Shin Makoku gives him a reason to pretend it's everyone else who's weird, which they definitely are by Earth standards. And then when he's on Earth, he can think of things the other way around. It's still everyone else who's weird, which they definitely are by Shin Makoku standards.

Yuuri is satisfied with these mental gymnastics.

 

 

 

Yuuri is eighteen when all his denials fall apart. He's not "normal", whatever that means. He never has been and never will be, and there's nothing wrong with that.

He looks at his knight and thinks, "I'm in love with a man. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a man."

There are a million reasons: his smile, his convictions, his shitty jokes… Maybe not his shitty jokes. Above all, it's because they understand each other.

Nearly all the members of Yuuri's inner circle in Shin Makoku come from extremely privileged backgrounds. They've never known what it was like to be discriminated against, or even just to be the odd one out in a group because of the circumstances of their birth. It makes them… peculiar.

Gunter, for example, is racist. Sure, he's had a change of heart, but that was a very recent development in a very long life. He slips up sometimes. Wolfram is classist; he's getting better, but it's an uphill battle to get him to acknowledge simple things that Yuuri takes for granted, like the fact that the peasant classes need access to education if Shin Makoku is ever going to stop being a feudal shithole. Annissina is concerned with science and women's rights and not much else. Everyone without maryoku is worthless to her.

Yuuri could go on and on about the… peculiarities… that abound in his friends' ways of thinking. It's not like he holds it against them. Part of being Maou is shepherding his people in the right direction, so of course he's willing to put time and effort into helping them overcome their prejudices. That's no less than what they've done for him.

Still, Yuuri is glad not to have to deal with such things in his love life. From what he hears, it seems tiring, trying to change someone in order to fit with them romantically. Isn't it better to find someone who already fits?

Conrad has never been normal either, and that's something Yuuri can relate to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never actually *quit* KKM fandom... It was just... a hiatus?
> 
> I've been living in Japan for about a month now (following 2 years in China), so of course I was attacked by Yuuri feels, which I have spewed all over here like projectile vomit. It's funny because I've been struggling to get my thoughts out about Yuuri's "normality complex" for, like, YEARS, and now it just seems so obvious. Being immersed in Japanese culture kind of sorted my thoughts out for me? Heheh.


End file.
